Prayer for Love
by Mandy138
Summary: [Alex and Sophia] A series of drabbles based upon the original themes presented in the LiveJournal community of 52underscoreFlavours. Die hard fans of this pairing: this is not a work on shipping. [How her heart ached.]
1. 1 Five Shades of White

1. Five Shades of White

* * *

There were many colors in the world and many more shades and tints to each one, but the most beautiful, the most painful, were seen only in the sky where the mind's eye ruled. The clouds, oceans of them, their undertow calming and gentle, deadly at the border to the Grand Stream, enfolded them and they contented to be held deep within the concealing embrace. Seen from the flight deck, they were gray and all its shades, bluish sometimes, white others, and when they were high enough, aglow.

The rainbirds, majesty and grace in flight, their songs and wings only revealing of their presences, bittersweet visions in the mind as they trailed them through the streams on the safer flight paths, white plumage and sunlit wings flashing like the Morse Code from the vanship's navigator headlight in memory, pulsing images of olive blossom scented memory. And just as cold as flying out in the streams was the ice that sat in his hand, floating upon the brandy and reflecting the rays stabbing through the glow of the vast vapor forms outside, absorbing the light as the brandy swallowed them and was downed in turn to take on an inner frosted glow of a cold burn.

The truest 'shade' of it, the whitest of all whites, were the knuckles as he gripped the command chair's arms, his brandy, Yuris and the olive flowers in her identically scented hair tearing through his mind, eyes shut in useless attempts to block it out. When he remembered, they grew whiter than anything ever to have existed, than the hottest flash of pain of either at the memory of her; she held strong suspicion his burn could out-do the knobs on his hands. It hurt to look at his hands, pale already as he was from years of seclusion and thin because of it. Yuris. How that name stabbed at them. To each a different pain, excruciating emptiness at the realizations of never-to-bes as her absence tore her forever from him and his pride forever from her.

The source of both their pain, all the world's, the Goddess Queen bathed in white behind, at the center of, the world as she lived shielded in her white castle floating in the clearest of skies among the whitest of clouds and purest of sparkling waters; the epitome of all that they strived to change, the object of all their hate. Up here, even the beautiful and beloved images represented in that which was all colors always led back to their purpose, to her, and to _her_. For them, for herself and him, that which represented their ache, that constantly reminded them at every turn, that was so heartbreakingly beautiful in all its forms and shades, was white.


	2. 2 The Cruelest Month

2. The Cruelest Month

* * *

She couldn't say for sure which had been the most painful period of her acquaintance with him. They all cut so deeply. Was it the brash and horrendously good looking noble youth their father's friend introduced? The immediate attraction between him and Yuris? Their shared love for flying? The perfect pair of pilot and navigator? The slight jealousy as she watched he and her sister draw closer? The announcement of their engagement? The death and his subsequent fall into depression? His surrender to its seductive embrace? His continued rejections of her?

Or when she realized he would never be hers?


	3. 3 Four Rings of Light

3. Four Rings of Light Upon the Ceiling Overhead

* * *

She loved these times, so rare, when she would sit with him in his cabin, he lounging back in the chair with feet up on the table. How she would watch his face as the laid back head resting upon the chair back threw his hair over and down it. How she could almost see and feel him reclining instead on her lap as her elegantly trained fingers trailed through hair once so well trimmed and styled. Its current state begged for grooming by way of a woman's touch.

She was more than willing to give.

His hands would be folded over his torso, eyes closed in the bit of sleep he allowed himself when safely in flight among the clouds. His breathing was gentle and slow and face so beautiful as he dreamed of times long gone. Ice delicately chimed in warming whiskey and the sun shed its rays through the cubes to play against his features and above.


	4. 4 Everything Ever Wished For

4. Everything You Ever Wished For

* * *

She had been everything he'd ever wished for.

She had not. She had not but she had tried, tried to become all that which he wished for. And she had failed by default, because of his stubbornness and brilliance and drive. For reasons that she had fallen for him. For reasons her sister had won where she had not. And when she had died the everything else that he had wished for became something else. And while she knew she could not have him, she was there helping him to get it.

Because even if it's unrequited, love makes you wish for that other person.


	5. 5 Effect of Impact

5. The effect of impact on stationary objects

* * *

The Guild launched a surprise attack. The Starships were everywhere in the skies beyond, the klaxons shedding their lights in the halls, their screams drowning out all but Wina's strong voice requesting the captain's and first officer's immediate presences at the bridge. They'd cut their consultation and spun into the elevator. There was only red, Alex, and the deafening silence between them. She watched him through the side of her eyes; the demeanor ever serious to the point it was painful.

There was a horrendous shudder as the Starships breached the hulls, wall compartments, endangering all for Alvris Hamilton, for a little girl. Ten minutes. They only need hold against them for ten minutes and the Guild would withdraw. Ten minutes. She fell and stumbled into Alex. Her chest seized at the proximity, the violated space, and she gave a fearful look up at him. She was afraid of what she would see there, what she could already feel in the lack of his reaction. Ignored, this never happened. And she thought the quiet before had hurt…yet she didn't pull away until just before the doors opened.

The explosion of ships shook the Silvana, the Guild's power scattered its contents and disrupted all it touched, but Alex Rowe did not move.


	6. 6 And yes, the Way You Look

6. And Yes, the Way You Look at Me

* * *

He had always been all too aware of her looks, especially after the death. The little courtyard girlish crush transformed into the hopeful want of a woman, but disregarded just as easily. The looking but not-looking from his first officer, intent to not be caught doing what she couldn't ever really stop herself _from_ doing. He continued to ignore it as he'd always done, participating in the farce in order to perpetuate its non-existence. He gave orders as usual.

If only he would look at her, acknowledge _her_, her love, accept it. But as much as she wished that to be, she knew it would not. Ever watching from the sides of her spectacled eyes, it was the way he didn't, wouldn't meet her eyes. If it wasn't an order, if it wasn't a challenge, if it wasn't revenge, those dead eyes focused on none.


	7. 7 Snow Falling on Corpses

7. Snow Falling on Corpses

* * *

He was one. Often times she would swear it as he sat in the command chair or in his quarters. His eyes half-lidded in his slouch, arms heavy upon the rests, fingers slightly curled from limp hands. Occasionally one would loosely clasp an amber-filled glass. And other times, his cane. The times where the glass accompanied him were most synonymous with the state of non-living. Ice would melt in the deeply golden pond, drawing warmth from fingertips she was hard pressed to believe they had for as long as he'd gone without even a single blink. Sometimes, sometimes she would leave the room with him unchanged and sometimes he would break from the spell on his own. But even if the body moved the eyes were never alive. 


	8. 8 The Blind Leading the Blind

8. The Blind Leading the Blind

* * *

Often times when the pressure was weighing down a bit too heavily on her, she would seek out Vincent, his familiarity solace to her ache. They would talk of little things, mundane nuisances, trivial and simple amusements, pains and the tuggings of strings. How pointless it was the subject of both their pain. How hypocritical it was for them to talk to each other on it. How selfish of her to run to him every time she felt the wall crushing her. How naïve it was of him to continue to indulge her. How stupid it was for them to continue this tradition.

Why, when in the end, they only hurt each other further? Why, when in the end, it would never help; for as long as he lived, they wouldn't be able to move forward.


	9. 9 Four Twelves are Forty Eight

9. Four twelves are forty-eight

* * *

The spending had started in modest amounts early on so as not to draw too much attention before he was able to aptly defend rebuttals. But as he further healed from the fall and crash and desperation took him over, it quickly multiplied into larger and larger amounts; his fortune dwindled. His army grew, almost matching his ambitions, and the crew steadily weeded over time to nurture only the most loyal. His force was small but his drive killed. His silence and withdrawal hurt. Even so, she had taken pity on him as the funds of a nobleman were depleted and she supported him with hers, not once cursing what her heart harbored or her mind for giving in to it.

Arithmetic worked both ways. He was privileged and grateful to have the royal resources fill in the deficit caused by his despair. They both knew he would be unable to repay it.


	10. 10 One True Thing

10. One true thing

* * *

He was an unforgiving man, a born leader as heralded by his family and much to his father's pride. He had expectations that were to be met without fail or quarrel and if either was breached he came down harshly. Yes, he could be quite brutal when disciplining. He had crushed Tatiana's sense of self before all the mechanic staff and any on-lookers at the Cave race; she had needed it. He…continually reminded _her_ of his disinterest. She needed it, too. And yet, even with that, hope remained. She greatly suspected that she would be forever naïve as his rejections fierce. And truer still, her endless unyielding. 


	11. 11 Your Pretty Blue Eyes

11. Your pretty blue eyes are just stained glass

* * *

The photo on his desk was something with which she had a tenuous relationship with. There was gratitude, jealousy, resentment, dejection, and love. Yuris's smiling face and even more widely so eyes were those she remembered, her beloved sister alive and teasing all through the simple results of exposed silver and nitrate upon a piece of paper. Even her mischievous nature shouted out, calling to her as she taunted the younger sibling with arms around a younger Alex's neck, perching on the vanship and bracing herself against him.

Her tentative smile faltered at the combination and merrily bright eyes. Yuris would never have been so cruel to have meant it as such but there was a bitter taint that she wrongly perceived, as if Yuris was demonstrating her eternal domain over the man they both fell so completely and suddenly for. She knew the impression incorrect, but still its teeth remained embedded into her flesh.

"She's not there." His voice came from the usual reclining and head-upon-hand position in the chair before the desk upon where the picture sat. "In this picture. There's nothing behind her eyes," he muffled into his hand, having drawn her attention.

She shook her head. "You're wrong," she said as his head rose ever-so-slightly at the contradiction. "Those are her eyes. She's there. She's always been. She would never leave you." She hadn't cared to glance behind as she walked to the exit of his cabin. And shutting the door with the hands behind her back, she immediately fell back against it to collect herself. Having faced away from him the entire time, she had not seen his head rise and eyes follow to track her.


	12. 12 Wake Unto Me

12. Wake unto me

* * *

He dreams an eternal dream; of pain, of loneliness, of a void so vast and despairingly consuming that he gave in without resisting. She had always admired him for his sharp wit and tongue, pleasant in a sadistic way to listen to as he put an opponent in his place and crushing when on the receiving of. His eyes were always alight with the fire his tongue doused upon enemies and she had long delighted in watching the embers dancing in irises. Watching him had always been a favored past time for her.

There was no glow, now, not even smoke in those eyes, so hungry was the void, devouring all that had lived within the vessel. All that was left of those times was her looking over the frames of her glasses at the head upon the fist in thought or just lost. Those eyes were flat but not empty. She could see the void that ate at him, almost see the puffs of breath exhaled as they warmed to room temperature at escaping the absolute cold within him. The eyes only lit up for one thing anymore; Delphine. She wished she could say it was a likening back to the days of yore, of her youth and joyful times, but it was not. What was harbored there was something she had never seen any time before outside of the Maestro's involvement. This rage was reserved only for the Queen. And at every occasion it burned, she found herself continually torn between being thankful such strong emotion was still capable and fear.

There were only three things he looked at, and even then, it wasn't really even that. Even so, the sky and that faded picture were granted the same gaze; blank with something not quite yet that void but just as disturbing. Much later she would come to recognize it as the sight of dying, the exact point in time where the shattered soul separated from body. The third was the space he vigilantly scrutinized. Then again, it was all he ever saw, cloud or lover before him.

The void was a never-ending phenomenon and she prayed with every breath she would be what he saw when he awoke from the terror.


	13. 13 Dreams of the Impossible

13. Dreams of the Impossible

* * *

Fingers trespass through hair, hands over lines and planes and curves. Whose is on whose is not an issue; it is only that it occurs. Sighs elicit from the labored panting of lips, fingertips brush over them in wonder. Hair falls into eyes and there is always a gentle motion to swipe it away. Noses and lips graze, breath offered in simultaneous trade in the minimal space, and sound alone is registered, the only true consumption that of the participants by the thunderous thudding of life within that drowns the over-stimulating touches. 

Sound does not fully give way, no. Instead, touch and taste and the red rise to combat the blindness of the echoing. Soon, there is only heat and seeing is no longer so important. But heat eventually fades and leaves warmth in its wake; an equally pleasant experience.

Oh, how she wishes.


	14. 14 As Long as You're Mine

14. As Long as You're Mine

* * *

He knows with every conscious and dream-state stroke that the metal beneath his hands is his. He put his life, what was left of it, into building this, his drive realized, the _Silverna_ tangible form given to that which he was left with. And when that hadn't been enough, there had been the empire to so graciously pick up the slack. Every tap of cane, kiss of booted sole, leather-clad, fingered caress upon framework, reassurance that it was very real. The whiffs of air from personnel, alarmed informative shouts throughout the bridge, imperial help and presence, only reinforced his resolve. Gloved hands extended from the almost-reclined body in the command chair gripped and released the ends of its arms. 

As long as he had this ship, vengeance was his.


	15. 15 Bathing in Artificial Light

15. Bathing in Artificial Light

* * *

His was a deep and fulfilling presence, so vast to the point that it was overwhelming. He brought on a curiously profound range of feelings and at one point, in the young and naive portion of her life, she once set out in determined fashion to sort the exact emotions he stirred within her self. She gave many a valiant attempt at categorizing reactions to him before wisely giving it up as an unceasing evolution of sensations and eventually turned to dissecting the man himself. She should have known better, she would berate herself later. And when that later came, she would look back and realize she had known all along. 

Both endeavors had been doomed from the start.

And even in the last days as she identified the true ugliness of his darkness, she willingly let live the lie that was her perception of the man she wanted to see.


	16. 16 How Fire Took Water to Wife

16. How Fire Took Water to Wife

* * *

She had been the perfect compliment to his brooding and calculating nature. She was passionate and made pure through its wake, erupting when ignited and becoming even more headstrong. She could always match his intellect for every wave, be the leader to his strategy, the resolve to his uncertainty. He was not unmoving, but his manner was calm and unhurried. He would be the balm to her rage, ever as passionate but cautious, nurturing her sensibilities until they came forward and she was able to think rationally once again. But the inferno had been put out by the fierce wind that engulfed the world and only he was there to fall over the edges of rocky terrain left after the earth had been torn out from under him. 

That had been his boiling point, although she knew him to still be bordering that apex. The woman she loved so dearly, had tried to be like and later become, was no longer there to burn brightly with their shared passion in his stead. He still simmered, quietly fuming until the day came for the tidal wave to crash upon the queen's castle.

It pained her to know that no matter how hard she tried to evolve into her sister she would always fail. One could not become what one was not and she was not even close to the woman she wanted to become. But even if she became similar enough to gain his attention, it wouldn't work the way she longed for. Two of a kind did not complement each other; they combined, one absorbed into the stronger current and flowing at its back. Opposing elements were in need; they completed the other, keeping each other in check, calming the irrational and satisfying desire.

She could only ever be the undertow to his current, holding him up as his rapids foamed in the storm, biding the energy until the winds sucked him into the moat of the castle he would drown.


	17. 17 A Dark Heart, Beating

17. A Dark Heart, Beating

* * *

It remained in stasis for the majority of its time in these last few years she'd known him. Oh, it surely still functioned since he continued to rise day after day to herald his personal crusade against a global enemy, but it was undoubtedly at the most minimal level. None could deny that. She had thought that maybe, just maybe, it'd been given a kick-start when little Claus Valca arrived in that tattered vanship. She'd not seen him that talkative or truly amused on any level than then. Seeing Claus and Lavi in _that_ vanship - looking as beaten and rugged that something flying out of his past should – had elicited a pulse within him. 

He must have seen Yuris and himself. She had seen the warmth that deepened his eyes at that moment as he revisited the memories ever present at the forefront of his mind. He lived in them all the time and they were the only thing to visit him in his quarters. But the presence of Claus and Lavi quickly lost its novelty and the fact that they'd brought Alvis secured their continued presence on board. She knew the children's usefulness had contributed mostly to that, them staying that is. And they had proved themselves, surprisingly. Although she suspected their nostalgia had combined with Key Alvis to lean heavily in their favor for the chance he'd awarded him.

But things had quickly gone back to 'normal', new tactical advances being implemented even as they were being formed, years of planning enacted. Nowadays, everyone heard the thump that resonated from within his chest at the name of the queen. It was the only time such a foreign noise filled the bridge.


	18. 18 The Smell of Hospitals in Winter

18. The smell of hospitals in winter

* * *

There was almost snow – a _real_ snow – on the ground. She could see the greening grass through the gaping breaks in the cover of white as spring fought its yearly struggle against the winter cold for its right and turn to birth. The clacking of her low heels in the frigid halls seemed exceptionally loud in her ears as they continued to the wards housing extended-stay patients; the princess and her escort making the rounds. But even still, she continued onward. There were crewmen to see.

She…despised these hospital visits, yet knew them necessary. She truly enjoyed seeing their faces when she visited them personally, expressing her honest wishes in hoping for their recoveries and assuring that they were indeed comfortable and well looked after. They were almost always first overtaken with awe and embarrassment that their princess would be inconvenienced by them, but that would quickly turn to gratitude at the gesture of the personal task and genuine show of concern. Her people needed her as much as she needed them.

She loved them, loved seeing them grow, loved _seeing_ them getting better.

But it was his dark visage in the glass as she passed that would call to her, draw her eyes deep into his shadow as he stood with his cape and cane. Sometimes he stared at her, sometimes through. She didn't know what he was looking for, in or beyond her. It was this - that fear of seeing him portrayed in the too-clean glass - that kept her visiting. She had to get over the irrational insecurities and _wants_ she'd held – and still did – about the man who had controlled her. And she had happily let him move her as he'd wished. She had to get over such weaknesses if she were to become the strong leader their country needed.

And it was the _hope_ that one day he might be one of those, found and saved by their medicine so that he may continue to live. He may even be content, this time around.

Saved, so that they could both start over, again.

* * *


	19. 19 Another Grey Day in the Deep Blue

19. Another grey day in the deep blue world

* * *

It was days like these – where the clouds were so black, threatening rain – that she was reminded of flying the skies in _Silverna_ among clouds promising rain. Blessed, blessed rain that never fell; never soaked parched land; clouds that never even rumbled with menacing intentions as dark wisps kissed the hull in passing. It was like a dream, teasing with secret promises of sorely needed precipitation with droplets so fat she thought she had only to stick out her tongue to collect the moisture floating all around them. But just when she could swear it was beginning to pool within, the cooling sensation of water receded away from her dry mouth. It was a nightmare. And she grimaced, thinking again how Maestro Delphine was stringing them along, laughing from her palace while wasting disgusting amounts of highest grade water in some ridiculously luxurious bath.

Yet the clouds still remained, burdened with heavy purpose and darker promises, waiting to lash out against the world.

Sometimes it sent a shiver through her to see the same vicious storm held captive in his eyes.


	20. 20 And I Love You Even Through

20. And I love you even through uncertainty

* * *

He had scared her so many times - and increasingly often now - that she was almost beginning to get used to it, each new occasion startling her less each time. The crazy maneuvers, the stretching of resources, the desperate-but-not decisions to pull them out ahead again and again. He was biding his time as always, just in progressively more ingenious ways.

It was all for exacting Judgment upon the Queen.

She tried not to think about it too much, tried not to see how far he was slipping…and how quickly. His unusual silence was starting to greatly disturb her and she feared he was completely unaware of the concerned looks she was throwing at him in between shouting out commands. His eyes were burning, a sign of where his thoughts lay.

She shut her eyes against that reality and renewed her focus on the battle. They weren't even trying but she was in no mood to play with the Guild today. Orders were given to sweep them aside as quickly as possible and disengage. They were not here to indulge the Maestro; they had to make port and the day would only end once they had.

A shout heralded upon their ears: the Guild was pulling out!

She stopped in the midst of issuing another command, mouth slightly agape at the information. It hadn't been ten minutes yet, not even close. Was Maestro toying with them _that_ lightly?

"Let none escape."

Her head whipped around at the spoken order, the underlying malice shocking all of the bridge crew. Snapping herself back into functionality and realizing all action had ceased, she seconded the command, astonishment lacing her voice, watching him from the corner of her eye.

How much of him was left, she wondered; and then again at how she would love him until the end.

She knew she would.


	21. 21 New Every Morning

21. New every morning

* * *

She steeled herself every morning, preparing for the fated event. For every day was a day that the chance to begin anew, to start over, would come to her in his form, swathed in dark cloth, hugged by flowing cape, and cane. Every time she pinned up her hair it was with the hope that today he would _see her_, the possibility of being more than just second-in-command more than just his lover's sister, more than Yuris' ghost. And every night when she went to bed with nothing altered, she could smile and rest easy because tomorrow was a new day with a new morning holding new possibilities.

Because if something didn't change tomorrow, there was another day after that. And after that, another. Closure would come one of those nights before the next morning…one way or another.


	22. 22 The Laughter of Women

22. The laughter of women

* * *

It was not uncommon to hear it upon the decks; light-hearted and carefree, even if just for the moments in between matches with the Guild. She had always loved the sound, had come to appreciate the larger meaning of its presence. It meant people were happy, at ease, comfortable and enjoying themselves. Hearing it echo down stifling halls refreshed the air, her spirit. It reminded her why she was _really_ doing this.

It was killed mid-release when he walked by, two young crew members snapping to attention in salute, cane tap-tap-tapping as he continued past, paying them no heed. A peek - in what could have been curiosity - over a shoulder only revealed dutiful officers paying respects to their captain. He didn't waste anymore time on frivolous philosophical wonderings. His dark cape flapped around the bend before they broke attention, nervous giggling now taking residence in its cousin's previous stead.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth. He'd never been very tolerant of it, even back in the days of Court. Gossiping women had often been on his list of encounters to avoid. He had really never gotten the hang of dealing with embarrassment.


	23. 23 Truth And Peaches

23. Truth and peaches

* * *

Summer had held fond memories for her. Happier times with family and glorious weather led to the making of wondrous moments. They had possessed an orchard with an array of fruit, samplings for many a summer's and autumn's day. It proved a perfect hiding place for sisters wanting only to gossip. She had much preferred the lush softness of peaches while Yuris would more often opt for tart crispness of apples. If she had been wiser in her youth, she may have realized it for the definition of their personalities one of her advisors would later reflect upon. The orchard had seen many conversations on politics, father, men, and more on a certain one.

She was likening her life to the fruit in hand, juice from the bitten flesh running down her ringers as tears were wont to along her cheeks. But as sweet and appealing as truth could be, there were times when it seemed impossible to swallow.


	24. 28 Beneath These Hands

28. Beneath these hands

* * *

Beneath these hands rumbled the means to his revenge. Her death was assured with every stroke of his armrests, with every shake and rattle of his ship, every dent and hole punched through her walls. He promised himself this as he stared ahead, listening to the sounds of the bridge – Wina's clear voice relaying flares, coordinates, and messages - bequeathing another caress to the padded metal under his palm. The ship shook moderately from an off-port explosion; a Starship had been introduced to the latest additions to _Silverna_. A light stroke from his thumb and another explosion rocked the ship, as if will transferred by touch alone; as if his hands were conducting an orchestral movement in the sky, a rhapsody of metal and blood trading leading symphonic strains in attempt to break free from the harmony and the other fighting to maintain it.

His hands never wavered. But even so, hers were always there ready to catch the baton should his falter.


End file.
